


Almost Caught

by i_am_still_bb



Series: Despite the Winter Winds [3]
Category: Poldark (TV 2015), Return to Treasure Island (TV 1996)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Cold War, Alternate Universe - Spies & Secret Agents, Cold War, M/M, Sexual Content, Spies & Secret Agents, cold war au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-03
Updated: 2020-04-03
Packaged: 2021-03-01 01:07:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23462941
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/i_am_still_bb/pseuds/i_am_still_bb
Summary: Moscow, 1962...A knock on the door interrupts Jim's reminiscing of the night’s activities.He finds his trousers by the lamp and pulls them on before yanking open the door, “That was fast.”Jim freezes....I honest to god have no idea what this is, but you can have it. There’s plot, but its also kinda porny. And there are Soviets. This means angst. You cannot have Soviets without angst. And it’s been tormenting me since yesterday.
Relationships: Jim Hawkins/Ross Poldark
Series: Despite the Winter Winds [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1687876
Comments: 2
Kudos: 17





	Almost Caught

**Author's Note:**

> There _could_ be more, hence the creation of a series, but I have other stories to finish first.

**Moscow, 1962**

...

Jim gently returns the phone to its cradle and climbs out of the tall bed. He stretches and frowns at the number of pops that he gets. He runs a hand through his hair and glances at the person sprawled in his bed; a dark haired someone that had been disrupting his routine for months now. Not that he minds overly much, except for the new cricks. He smiles.

A knock on the door interrupts his reminiscing of the night’s activities. 

He finds his trousers by the lamp and pulls them on before yanking open the door, “That was fast.”

Jim freezes.

“Michael.”

“What was fast?”

“I just ordered some food,” Jim says as calmly as he can. He slowly takes a deep breath to calm his pounding heart.

Michael’s gaze drops to Jim’s disheveled hair, his bare chest and feet before returning to his face. “I hope this isn’t a bad time, Hawkins.”

Jim swallows. His mouth has gone dry. “It’s fine. Come in,” he steps away from the doorway to allow his boss inside. 

“Ah.”

Jim can hear the smile in Michael’s voice. He turns and follows Michael’s gaze to Ross’ prone form. His throat tightens.

“I see you’ve finally taken an interest in the local cuisine.” He turns back to Jim with the knowing smile still on his face. “Where did you find her?”

Jim relaxes a little. “The bar around the corner. The one with all the girls that want to form ‘international relationships’ even though they know that the _bufetchik_ will report on them."

“I’ll make this quick then, so you can get back to your _diversion_.” Michael moves to the sofa.

“Do you mind if I grab a shirt?”

Michael sits, crosses one ankle over the other knee and lights a cigarette. “Not at all.”

He whistles when Jim turns. “You’ve got a live one,” he laughs. “I think she even drew blood.”

Jim looks over his shoulder to see what Michael is talking about. He cannot see it, but he can feel a small sting of pain running down his back as he twists.

His shirt is on the floor beside the bed. He grabs it and pulls it over his head, doing up the buttons with trembling fingers. 

_“Get yourself under control,”_ he silently chastises himself. _“Some fucking spy you are.”_

Before he returns to the sitting area, Michael and his news, he looks at Ross. And he is eternally grateful that Ross is lying on his stomach with his face turned to the wall. From the sitting area and the door all Michael can see is the blanket pooled around Ross’ trim waist, the bare expanse of his shoulders, and the thick mop of curls. The rumpled blanket easily disguises his height and his lack of hips. His arms are wrapped firmly around the pillow under his head that he is presently drooling on. 

His fingers twitch. He wants to pull the blanket over Ross’ shoulders, to hide him from prying eyes. But that would probably wake Ross and Jim would have no time, no way to explain that he needed to stay quiet and pretend to be asleep. Such an action would also surely draw Michael’s attention, maybe a comment, and maybe even a peek at Ross’ face to see if he was one of the office girls, to see who Jim was trying to protect.

Jim leaves the blanket alone and sits down on the chair opposite Michael. As he passes by the couch he nudges Ross’ discarded shoes underneath. No woman wears mens size 12 leather shoes. From the chair he can keep an eye on Ross’ movements and Michael will be forced to face away from the bed, or at worst, only see it in his periphery. 

…

Jim shuts the door and locks it purposefully. He turns and leans against the door before sliding down it. “Jesus suffering fuck, that was close,” he mutters.

“I know.”

Jim’s head snaps up, panicked. Had he missed someone else in the room?

Ross is sitting upright in the bed; back arching as he stretches his arms in front of him, interlaced fingers.

“You were awake for that?” Jim breathes.

“The last bit.” He fixes Jim with a steady gaze. “I’m surprised that you let him in.”

“I thought he was room service,” Jim says weakly. “Once the door was open, what was I supposed to do? Tell him to reveal his top secret information in the hallway of a Soviet hotel? A Soviet hotel where American embassy employees stay no less?”

“I’m sure he would have found that preferable to revealing top secret information in front of the assistant to the Third Deputy Minister of Foreign Affairs.” Ross lazily rolls out of bed; not bothering with trousers or a shirt.

“Well, he’ll never know that will he?” Jim snaps irritably. The tension of the previous half hour boiling to the surface.

Ross’ bare feet make only the smallest noise as he crosses the room. “He won’t.” He extends a hand to pull Jim to his feet.

Jim drops his forehead onto Ross’ chest and groans. “That could have been so bad. It was so close to being a catastrophe.”

Ross wraps his arms around Jim’s shoulders and pulls him close. “I know,” he murmurs. His fingers gently rubbing the back of Jim’s neck.

“If you had moved, if you had been laying in a slightly different position…” Jim trails off. He wraps his arms around Ross’ waist and turns his face so it is pressed to Ross’ neck. “I would have been sacked at best. Sent home in disgrace. At the worst…” he shudders.

“But I didn’t move.” Ross presses a kiss to the top of Jim’s head. “And we’ll be more careful in the future.”

Jim pulls away. “How? Here isn’t safe, your apartment isn’t—”

Ross shrugs. “We’ll figure it out.”

Jim sighs and relaxes against Ross once again.

“But, for now, we’re as safe as we’re going to get.” Ross shifts and Jim suddenly becomes very aware of Ross’ state of undress. A blush blooms across his cheeks. 

Jim looks up and narrows his eyes. “Are you suggesting—?”

Ross ducks his head and interrupts Jim’s question with a kiss. It starts slow, but it quickly becomes filthy. Ross cards his fingers into Jim’s hair while Jim pulls Ross close, his fingers resting in the small of Ross’ back. Ross thrusts against him. Jim groans with Ross’ tongue in his mouth. His hands tighten on Ross’ waist.

Jim pulls away, his eyes wide and glassy like someone who has just woken up from a dream. “We shouldn’t.”

“Hm?” Ross kisses and nips at Jim’s shoulder and neck, teeth grazing sensitive flesh. Jim shudders. Ross maneuvers him away from the door and towards the sitting area.

Jim tilts his head to grant Ross better access. He closes his eyes. “We _really_ shouldn’t.” The backs of his knees bump into the couch where his boss had been sitting not 10 minutes before.

Ross gives him a gentle shove and follows; climbing onto Jim’s lap, his knees straddling Jim’s hips, his hands on either side of Jim’s face.

“There is one thing that you Americans need to learn about us,” Ross says quietly. “We live our entire lives knowing that we are going to get caught for something. Something we actually did or maybe something that we didn’t do, but we cannot prove it. So we might as well get on with it, because, even if we don’t do it, we will get caught for something else.”

This kiss is full of longing. Ross pulls at Jim’s lower lip with his teeth, takes as much of him as he can get and Jim returns in kind; he pulls Ross close and kneads his fingers into the firm flesh of Ross’ ass. Ross deftly opens Jim’s trousers.

Ross pulls at Jim’s hair making him gasp. He grinds down on Jim’s lap, against his growing arousal before shifting back to make room for his free hand to cup the front of Jim’s trousers.

Jim whines in the back of his throat and tries to thrust into Ross’ hand, but Ross’ weight on his knees, and Ross’ fingers tangled in his hair hold him in place. 

“Look at me,” Ross demands.

Jim makes a small noise in the back of his throat, but he opens his eyes. His dark pupils almost obscure the brilliant blue of his eyes. He meets Ross’ heated gaze. He whines, thrusts against Ross’ hand, and his eyes start to close again. “Ross,” he says on a soft exhalation of breath. 

“Look at me, Jim.”

Jim opens his eyes slowly with great effort. He looks at Ross’ face. He tries to memorize everything about it; the hazel eyes, the wide mouth that is so quick to smile, the slight slant to his front teeth, the scar and its origin story that is still unknown to Jim, maybe someday, the eyebrows that furrow and make his gaze more intense, like they are doing now. Jim feels lightheaded under that gaze. He tries to pull Ross closer, so that they are touching, but Ross remains firm.

Ross holds his gaze for several long moments while he breathes heavily through his nose.

“Jim.”

“Yeah?”

“If I face a firing squad for this, I want you to know that every moment, every breath, every stolen touch will have been worth it.”

With that he kisses Jim fiercely and slides his hand into Jim’s open trousers.

**Author's Note:**

> I should clarify Jim’s fears. One is the obvious for the time and place, but the other is McCarthyism. Wherein people were sacked (and worse) for real and imagine close and continuing contact with suspected Communists.


End file.
